


A Matter of Delicacy

by RedFlagsAndDiamonds



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Victorian, BDSM, Bondage, Clothing Porn, Discipline, Dom/sub, Domme Graves, F/F, Female Gradence, Forced Orgasm, Hysteria, Medical Kink, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism, Sub Credence Barebone, Vibrators, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26554651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedFlagsAndDiamonds/pseuds/RedFlagsAndDiamonds
Summary: Miss Graves is known among New York's elite for her successes at reforming troublesome young women, through both traditional and... newfangled methods .Credence Barebone, declared by her mother to be hopelessly ill-bred, may prove to be a welcome challenge.Gradence genderflip femslash, with a dash of Victorian Hysteria.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	A Matter of Delicacy

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a hysteria au that went completely off the rails. Fasten ya seatbelts, slut puppies.
> 
> My inspiration for female!Graves and Credence were Eva Green and Emmy Rossum respectively, but I'd be curious to know if anyone forms a different image in their minds!
> 
> Standard disclaimer: this is a bdsm period fantasy, and some attitudes and actions are not recommended or endorsed in real life. Cool.

“Had I any alternative, I would have taken it, I assure you -” Mother continued primly, the bone china teacup clinking back into the saucer. Foxgloves were painted ‘round the edge.

“ - but the past three months have proven that she is nothing but a willful, deceitful child who may well succumb to… despicable habits - of- of an obscene nature-! ” she blushed, lips tightening into a furious white line, and straightened in the tufted chair with a creaking of bustles.

From her own seat in the corner of the parlor, Credence Honesty Barebone blushed as well, brown eyes downcast to the floor in shame. 

Mother’s fear for her spiritual wellbeing had increased tenfold ever since her menses had arrived, and now that she was of the age for marriage, Mrs. Barebone seemed to dread some horrific, unnamed calamity which might befall the adopted daughter she had raised carefully by hand. 

For her own part, Credence had read her bible, memorized psalms, prayed hours in church, spoken only to her mother and the Reverend, and yet it seemed for naught. Mother had in some way determined her to be at unacceptable risk - though of what, Credence could not imagine - and in a tempest of rage and disgust had swept her off to this grand house on the recommendation of one Mr. Shaw, another devout church-goer, who claimed that the lady of the establishment had performed wonders upon his own, belligerent daughters.

Trembling, Credence dared another glance at their hostess, who had stood to pour out another cup of tea for Mother. The light of the china parlor lamps gleamed off her black hair and cast shadows across fine white cheekbones as she nodded in reply to Mother’s complaints.

“You were quite right to come to me so promptly, Mrs. Barebone - eighteen is the most crucial age, hence the haste by some parents to see young ladies safely married at, say, sixteen or seventeen. And it is quite true, that if the appropriate measures are not taken, ill-disciplined girls are often plagued by curiosity. Inevitably this leads to irritation and injury.”

Another dark flush colored Mother’s face, but with a start, Credence realized that the lady of the house showed no signs of shame whatsoever. 

“I hope -” Mother said tersely, “- that you understand the necessity for complete discretion.”

“Of course - all transactions shall be in the strictest confidence. And I assure you, there is no need for concern on the grounds of… masculine intrusion. My establishment operates solely on the belief that a young lady ought not to come under the intimate observation of a gentleman until confined by matrimony.”

“This is exactly the way of which I approve.” Mother nodded.

“Then following the initial interview, I shall have my secretary draw up a course of remedial treatment for your daughter, pending your own consent of course. Now, if I might be permitted to address the young lady?”

With a hopeless sigh, Mother waved imperiously.

“Credence! Come here girl, and speak politely to Miss Graves!”

Shaking hands clutching her ivory skirts, Credence bobbed a curtsey at Mother’s side, all too aware of their hostess’s close examination.

“Good afternoon…” she whispered, hardly within hearing. She could not recall a time when she had been permitted to speak to a stranger, and the uncertainties left her reeling.

“Good afternoon,  _ Miss Graves. _ ” the lady rebuked her gently, and Credence flushed pink.

“Will you take tea, dear?” she murmured, not unkindly, although her leonine gaze never eased.

Blinking in momentary shock - an invitation had not been at all anticipated - Credence only managed a half-gulped affirmative, but Miss Graves seemed to accept it.

“Sugar?”

Mother replied for her, before Credence could find her voice again.

“That is sinful excess - she always takes it black.”

Miss Graves arched a brow.

“Then you are a God-fearing Christian, I trust?”

Again, Mother answered first.

“It would be as well to avoid such a subject, Miss Graves - I have made attempt after attempt to install godliness and decency in this child, and her intemperance has tested even my own blessed patience.”

She lifted her chin as she spoke, whilst Credence stared very hard at the jade and chestnut acanthus wreathing the blue carpet, and wished herself thousands of miles away.

“To be sure.” Miss Graves replied silkily, crossing the short distance to place a steaming teacup between Credence’s chapped palms. 

Their eyes met for an instant.

The cup almost slipped from her fingers.

Miss Graves’s smile was merely a hint of a thing, as quickly hidden as it had come.

“Classic symptoms of juvenile hysteria, I’m afraid, Mrs. Barebone.” she remarked quite primly, the train of her bustle swaying gracefully like a fish’s tail as she swept back into her velvet chair. 

“We had best see to the matter as quickly as possible, to avoid any… unpleasant repercussions. Would tomorrow be convenient?”

Credence’s head shot up. So soon?! 

“Certainly.” Mother replied with solemnity. “You may expect us at -”

“The child alone will be sufficient, Mrs. Barebone - the methods I employ could prove… distressing to witnesses, particularly a lady of your temperament. You may have her delivered to me at eight o’clock sharp. Miss Barebone-” she barked suddenly. “Drink your tea.”

Mother sniffed with evident approval as Credence, her poor mind spinning, raised the cup to her lips automatically.

She barely managed to contain a gasp of shock, as sweetness burst across her tongue.

  
  


*

The following day dawned hours too soon, in Credence’s lowly opinion. An afternoon of sitting in a strange parlor, listening to Mother and Miss Graves - terrifying, cruel-eyed Miss Graves - speak of her apparent ill-behavior, had left her in such a state of shame that she was quite sure her cheeks had taken on the shade of ripe apples.

Certainly nothing else in her life would elicit so great a humiliation!

And now she was to return, alone and without even Mother to speak for her and shield her from Miss Graves’ icy and merciless demeanor. 

Cobblestones and mud gradually gave way to blindingly white, ground shell as they left the final outskirts of the city and passed through the gates of the Graves estate. Imposing gargoyles crowned each side of the enclosing wall, each side of the drive lined with thick magnolia trees that all-but concealed the house entirely.

Nerves wriggled frantically in her belly as she was handed down from the hansom by Chastity, her mother’s pinch-faced maid and Credence’s usual chaperone, who curtly rang the bell before returning to wait in the cab.

The grey-haired housekeeper led her wordlessly back to that dreadful parlor, where Miss Graves sat waiting on the window seat. Lemonade and iced teacakes were laid out on the side table, somewhat to Credence’s surprise - certainly she was not an important enough guest to merit such hospitality.

She had left off her grandiose velvet and lace gown for a black skirt and shirtwaist, opalescent buttons trailing up to the very center of her neck. She might have been mistaken for the snide French governess of Credence’s childhood, were she not far more lovely...

“Hello again, Miss Barebone.” the lady murmured with that rich, throaty voice that reminded Credence of the great cats in Revelation - at least, as she imagined them. 

“Come sit.”

She obeyed, her legs quivering under her petticoats as she was offered a pastry, and declined a second even though the first had tasted delightful - gluttony and greed were certain paths to Hell, Mother said.

Neither she or Miss Graves spoke for a full eight minutes, despite her inescapable feeling that the lady was… scrutinizing her, in some way that defied explanation. All Credence knew was that the direct gaze of her eyes prompted a desperate wish to shrink away like a wilting flower on the altar.

Miss Graves stood quite suddenly, lifting Credence’s chin with an elegant finger and studying her face with a severe expression. She fought to control her trembling. What if she was declared a hopeless case, and was sent away? Mother would be furious! Perhaps she was meant to - to-

As quickly as it had begun, the apparent examination seemed to be over, and Miss Graves resumed her seat.

“Stand.” she murmured, in a tone that indicated no argument would be tolerated.

Credence obeyed.

“Unless you are in pain and wish it to be addressed, you will remain quiet and still throughout the session. Any disobedience will be corrected. Answer ‘yes, Miss Graves.’”

“Y-yes, Miss Graves.” Credence whispered.

“Louder.”

“Y-y-yes, Miss Graves.” she stammered, barely higher than before. 

A sculpted brow arched.

“Not off to a very good start, are we?”

Credence felt her belly twist underneath her corset. Oh, what had she done?!

“Answer me.”

“N-no, Miss Graves?”

“No indeed. We’ll remedy that quickly enough.”

She stood, offering a flash of jet-buttoned boots on surprisingly large feet, before grasping Credence’s bird-thin shoulders and turning her to face the corner of the parlor, where emerald velvet drapes had been drawn back to reveal a large mahogany door.

“Go into the next room and undress behind the screen. You will not touch anything. Is that understood?”

Credence started with a gasp, and attempted to spin ‘round - Miss Graves spared her the trouble by turning her body for her with a firm grip on both shoulders.

“Is something the matter?” she asked silkily.

Credence struggled to think of what to say, something to fully express the maelstrom of feelings that had dropped through her body, but she only worked her jaw like a hooked fish as Miss Graves calmly observed her discomfort.

“If you have no answer, I can only assume your intent is merely to be oppositional.”

“N-no, Miss - I - I only -!”

“If there had been any worthy reason for your actions, Credence, you would have had a ready explanation. Such a pity - I had hoped you would prove my initial assumptions wrong and show yourself to be a well-behaved girl.”

Credence almost sobbed.

“I - I can be, Miss Graves! It’s only - I - please, what’s happening -?!”

Miss Graves’ expression softened, barely by a fraction, and her thumb stroked across the tiny line of exposed flesh between Credence’s starched collar and the line of her jaw.

“What’s happening, my dear, is only for your own good.”

She was near enough that Credence could all but taste the zest of lemon on her warm breath.

“Now, as you’ve elected to make trouble, it seems I have no choice but to attend to you myself. Come.”

Firm hands, deceptively slender, never left Credence’s fragile arms as Miss Graves led her to the mahogany door, pausing briefly to unfasten the lock with a small brass key from a chain ‘round her wrist.

Warm, golden sunlight poured through the opened doorway, illuminating a vast, pink-walled room, crowned by a chandelier glittering with crystal. Three enormous windows let in the light without the hindrance of drapes, shining off the polished floor tiled in black and white marble.

At once awestruck and taken aback by the opulence of her surroundings - she had rather envisioned some grime-filled scullery where she would be made to kneel in the corner until penitent, as Mother often ordered her at home - Credence suddenly found herself escorted behind a French dressing screen, the rose aubusson carpet thick and soft underfoot.

“Place your hands by your sides. You will not move unless I direct you to do so. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes Miss Graves.” she whimpered, both shaking hands instantly pressed to her thighs through her woolen skirt. Things were spinning out of control so quickly - she dreaded to think what might occur were she to disobey.

A frightened gasp shuddered out of her throat as Miss Graves pulled open the knot of her bonnet with a swish of ribbon, an odd little half-smile playing on her lips. They were painted blood red, and glowed against her white skin.

Gradually her clothes built up into a pile on the carpet, layers upon layers of cambric, linen, and hideous, scratchy wool…

She could bear it. She could obey. Mrs. Barebone - Mother - had demanded that of her so many times, it was second nature now, she only needed to… to…

Miss Graves plucked at one of the ribbons holding her chemise closed, the paper thin cloth whispering against bare skin, and Credence broke. 

“Please Miss Graves!” she choked, clutching the shift to her chest. 

“I - I’ll do anything you wish, but you - you mustn’t-!”

Her brow arched.

“... You intrigue me. Please, continue.”

Credence gaped up at her, jaw working helplessly. It seemed impossible, inconceivable, that some calamity had not yet occurred.

“Truly. I’m sure you have some very pressing reason for this misbehavior.” Miss Graves urged her calmly. The corner of her red lips twitched again.

Was it not entirely obvious? Shaking her head frantically, Credence made some attempt to force the words off her tongue.

“M- Mother says only w-wicked girls - “

Whatever she had intended to say, it was clearly incorrect. Miss Graves huffed out a laugh.

“I should think you’re in desperate need of a new philosophy then. Now lower your arms.”

Credence shook her head frantically, wide-eyed.

“I’ve shown you the extent of my leniency. I won’t ask a second time.”

How could she possibly make her understand? Naked flesh was a sin, the very same with which Eve corrupted Adam. Mother had seen to it that Credence never tempted any soul, not even - though Credence did not understand it - herself. Her collars fastened up to her chin. Her bound-up hair covered by bonnets, cauls, night-caps. Whalebone corsets like an impenetrable shell around her body. Linen shifts and drawers at every moment of the night or day - she didn’t dare remove those final barriers even to bathe, instead sponging herself delicately through the protection of her underclothes, as Mother instructed.

And now, to bare herself entirely before a near stranger? It was too dreadful to even contemplate!

“Oh, I’ve had enough of this.” Miss Graves muttered suddenly. “Lower your arms, or I’ll tear those miserable rags off of you myself.”

Taken aback, and with a shocked whimper, Credence finally did as she was ordered, and slowly brought both arms down to her sides, hands clenching and working anxiously. 

Soft pale flesh was revealed inch by agonizing inch, as the chemise fell open.

The cool spring air tightened Credence’s nipples, coupled with Miss Graves careful scrutiny, as if she were a curious specimen worthy of experimentation. 

“Turn around.” she murmured, in a curious tone, and as Credence did so, shaking, she found herself staring in alarm at her own pink-cheeked reflection in an immense looking glass, propped in a gilded stand.

Both hands fluttered up instinctively in a vain attempt to hide her small breasts, stymied when Miss Graves took each wrist in a gentle but firm grasp, and lowered them back to her sides before - oh merciful heaven! - toying with the single button supporting Credence’s muslin drawers.

That last defense gave way without much coaxing - Credence lacked skill with a needle, and the buttonholes were overlarge. 

She blushed miserably, watching the unfolding spectacle in the looking glass with a kind of awestruck horror, Miss Graves once more holding her wrists well apart, as the stiff white underclothes slid down her legs and left her torso entirely bare.

For a long moment, Miss Graves said nothing, leaving Credence achingly aware of the intensity of her gaze. Her flesh seemed to tingle, nerves fluttering in her belly with every beat of her heart, and with a rush of shame she realized that her thighs and stomach were trembling under Miss Graves’ ceaseless attention.

“Remove your stockings. You may sit if necessary.”

Credence glanced about, yet there were no chairs to be seen. With a whimper of understanding, she squatted down on the carpet, squeezing her thighs tightly together in a final attempt at modesty. As she rolled the wool stockings down, and unbuttoned her shoes, her eye followed the sweep of Miss Graves’ petticoats, black crepe on the pink rug.

It all seemed… unreal, in a way, like a waking dream. Had she perhaps gone mad? Surely she ought to have been aware of the fact if she were… but would a mad woman not think the same?

The thought frightened her so terribly that she was near to weeping when she stood, shaking, for Miss Graves’ inspection. 

“Now now…” she tutted, smirking. Long fingers caressed her cheekbones. 

“When I wish to see tears, I’ll give you a reason for them.”

Her hands wandered from Credence’s blushing face to the crown of her head, drawing free six ivory pins with methodical slowness. Dark curls tumbled free as Miss Graves toyed with them admiringly.

“Exquisite.”

But that was a lie, Credence pondered, in a rather giddy haze. She was not  _ exquisite,  _ or lovely, or beautiful. Miss Graves was beautiful.

It was most unwise, to begin an acquaintance with a lie. Surely Miss Graves would never be so foolish. It must be some new means of shaming her.

“... this is how you will show yourself in my presence, as my little china doll.” she was continuing. “I never wish to see a single mark upon your skin that I haven’t placed there myself, is that clear?”

Credence nodded dully. Miss Graves snapped her fingers.

“I- I mean - yes, Miss Graves.”

“Come.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and suggestions are always welcome.


End file.
